


Covert Operations

by echoist



Category: Primeval
Genre: Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This all came about from casting Becker as Charlie the Unicorn. You're better off not asking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Covert Operations

“I don’t think we’re going the right way,” Connor piped up, leaning halfway into the Rover’s front seat. Becker shouldered him back out of the way almost without thinking, in the way of gestures become routine.

“Of course it’s the right way,” Abby argued. “Lester gave us directions this morning,  _remember_?” 

Becker shot Abby a wary look out of the corner of his eye. “I still don’t see why we’re not meeting at the ARC,” he grumbled.

“‘Cause it’s a special training session,” Connor explained as if he were addressing a two-year old. “And finding it’s…part of the training.” Abby turned around in her seat to smack Connor lightly upside the head. 

“Is not,” she countered. “Don’t be ridiculous, Connor.”

“I bet it is, too,” Connor shot back, rubbing the top of his head. “And that  _hurt_.”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby!”

“Oh my God, if you two don’t shut up - ” Becker began, hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel.

“What, you’ll turn this car around?” Connor grinned, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “You get to explain to Lester, then, that we missed the mandatory-urban-deep-cover-special-midnight-training-session on account of you having no sense of humour.”

Becker muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “cheeky” and “bastard,” with “not my problems” and “requesting a transfer” thrown in for good measure. “I fail to see where this is any part of my job description,” he concluded, leaning his head against the window. The glass was cool against his cheek, and he considered simply throwing open the door and jogging back to his flat, leaving the terrible two in the Range Rover to fend for themselves.

Still, if there was any chance they  _were_  telling the truth - and he wasn’t buying it, not for a minute - Becker would hate to risk censure, or even demotion, for failing to attend a training exercise. Goddammit. How was this even his life?

They wove through the streets, one of them always pointing out the turn at the last possible moment.  (“And why, exactly, can’t we use the GPS?” he’d asked a lifetime ago, and also approximately twenty-seven minutes earlier. “Because it’s a highly secret government installation,” Connor had reminded him, eyebrows raised at his stupidity. “Obviously.”) The SUV skidded around rain-slicked corners, screeching as it hugged the pavement through Becker’s frantic course corrections.

“Oi!” Connor yelped, extending his arm across Becker’s shoulder to point out a building up ahead. “That must be it.” Becker squinted through the mist and damp enveloping the vehicle like a poorly-knit jumper.

“How can you tell?” he questioned, trying to pick out any identifying features on the unremarkable corrugated walls.

“You’re just going to have to take our word for it,” Abby said simply, leaning over in the seat to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “That’s what teammates do,” Connor added, leaning forward to ruffle Becker’s hair before he’d quite had a chance to recover from being kissed. “They trust each other, yeah?”

“I - ” Becker offered, entirely flummoxed.

“Exactly,” Connor finished, slamming shut his door and opening the driver’s side before Becker could protest. “C’mon,” he said, grabbing Becker’s arm and tugging him out of the vehicle. “We don’t want to be late, now do we?”

Becker could feel the bass pounding up from below street level the minute his feet touched the sidewalk. He stopped, grinding his heels into the pavement. “No,” he said firmly. “Oh,  _no_ , absolutely not.”

“I don’t think he believes us, Abby,” Connor addressed his partner in crime, sounding dumbstruck. He slipped his arm through Becker’s as Abby sidled along to match him on the other side. Connor whistled, inclining his head sharply towards a door half-hidden down a short flight of stairs, and Becker realised he was done for.

He’d never even had a chance, really.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head as he let the pair drag him down the steps and towards the club, labeled “CANDY” in flickering, half-spent neon. The first three letters were dark, and Becker thought he could make out the word “EAR” before being swallowed by the darkened interior and viscerally present noise. He could feel the driving beat in the soles of his boots, in the tips of his fingers, uncomfortably close.

People actually enjoyed this sort of thing? Abby pulled him into the crush of the dance floor, raising her arms above her head and gyrating to the crashing rhythm. Lights flashed and spun over their heads, behind them, before them, and he felt anxiously dizzy - until Connor’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist, holding him steady. Abby leaned in, flinging her arms around his neck and Becker discovered, much to his surprise that dancing wasn’t quite so difficult as he’d always thought.

Just between the three of them, he might even come to like it. But you’d never hear it from him; as far as Becker was concerned, the entire evening was highly classified: top secret.


End file.
